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Bankers Explain How They Cannot Possibly Live On $1 Million Pay

Like many carbon-based lifeforms, you perhaps think that bankers are driven only by naked greed. But that is just because you don't understand them: They actually have a deep psychological need for that money.

The struggles of millionaire bankers (in Butcher's piece most of them are men) are an important factor for heartless regulators and shareholders to keep in mind as they consider putting limits on banker pay in the wake of a financial crisis that was fueled by bankers chasing higher pay. "One million" of anything -- pounds, dollars or Bitcoins, sounds like a lot to us rabble, but let bankers explain to you how it's pretty much the same as nothing, really.

For one thing, taxes will quickly whittle a seven-figure income right down to the mid-six figures, perilously close to being within sight of the middle class. Then, an ex-Goldman banker points out, with the mere $600,000 in take-home pay remaining, bankers still need to "pay the mortgages on, and maintain houses, in the Hamptons and Manhattan, to put three children through private schools costing $40k a year each, and to pay living costs."

Bankers might want to shed some of these costs by, say, sentencing their kids to rub elbows with the filthy Poors in public schools or owning just one house. But they are under constant social pressure to spend and spend some more, according to another ex-Goldmanite -- who is now a psychotherapist, naturally.

And this is before the wives get their cut. According to the bankers and ex-bankers in this article, there are only two marital choices available to bankers: The frumpy, educated girl they've been saddled with since college, or a physically attractive layabout who sucks their soul and bank account dry. Which only makes sense, because what other kinds of women are there, amiright, fellas? Science.

An even stronger urge than than the need to keep up with the Rotschilds or satisfy the missus is rooted in the bankers' childhoods. Every time they push a client to buy a subprime CDO, these bankers are merely trying to bring a smile to the cold, disapproving eyes of the parents looking over their shoulders. According to the squid/therapist quoted in the article, only "intense therapy" can help.

This poem was written by a working class Chilean woman in 1973, shortly after Chile's socialist president, Salvador Allende, was overthrown. A U.S. missionary translated the work and brought it with her when she was forced to leave Chile. This is to be read by two people, one reading the bold-faced type and one reading the regular type.

I am a woman. I am a woman.

I am a woman born of a woman whose man owned a factory. I am a woman born of a woman whose man labored in a factory.

I am a woman who watched two babies grow into beautiful children. I am a woman who watched two babies die because there was no milk.

I am a woman who watched twins grow into popular college students with summers abroad. I am a woman who watched three children grow, but with bellies stretched from no food.

But then there was a man; But then there was a man;

And he talked about the peasants getting richer by my family getting poorer. And he told me of days that would be better and he made the days better.

We had to eat rice.We had rice.

We had to eat beans! We had beans.

My children were no longer given summer visas to Europe.My children no longer cried themselves to sleep.

And I felt like a peasant.And I felt like a woman.

A peasant with a dull, hard, unexciting life. Like a woman with a life that sometimes allowed a song.

And I saw a man.And I saw a man.

And together we began to plot with the hope of the return to freedom. I saw his heart begin to beat with hope of freedom, at last.

Someday, the return to freedom. Someday freedom.

And then, But then,

One day, One day,

There were plans overhead and guns firing close by. There were planes overhead and guns firing in the distance.

I gathered my children and went home. I gathered my children and ran.

And the guns moved farther and farther away. But the guns moved closer and closer.

And then, they announced that freedom had been restored! And then they came, young boys really.

They came into my home along with my man. They came and found my man.

Those men whose money was almost gone.They found all of the men whose lives were almost their own.

And we all had drinks to celebrate. And they shot them all.

The most wonderful martinis. They shot my man.

And then they asked us to dance.And they came for me.

Me. For me, the woman.

And my sisters.For my sisters.

And then they took us. Then they took us.

They took us to dinner at a small private club.They stripped from us the dignity we had gained.

And they treated us to beef.And then they raped us.

It was one course after another.One after another they came after us.

We nearly burst we were so full. Lunging, plunging—sisters bleeding, sisters dying.

It was magnificent to be free again! It was hardly a relief to have survived.

The beans have almost disappeared now. The beans have disappeared.

The rice—I've replaced it with chicken or steak. The rice, I cannot find it.

And the parties continue night after night to make up for all the time wasted. And my silent tears are joined once more by the midnight cries of my children.

The period of rice and beans for the poor woman in the poem occurs after the election of the socialist, Salvador Allende, as president of Chile. Allende was elected in 1970. He was overthrown in a military coup in September 1973 after a long period of destabilization launched by the wealthy classes and supported by the US government and US corporations such as International Telephone and Telegraph. Along with thousands of others, Allende was killed by the military. The coup, under the leadership of Gen. Augusto Pinochet, launched a period of severe hardship for the working and peasant classes. Although Chile currently has a civilian government, the military is still the country's most powerful institution.

This poem was written by a working class Chilean woman in 1973, shortly after Chile's socialist president, Salvador Allende, was overthrown. A U.S. missionary translated the work and brought it with her when she was forced to leave Chile. This is to be read by two people, one reading the bold-faced type and one reading the regular type.

I am a woman. I am a woman.

I am a woman born of a woman whose man owned a factory. I am a woman born of a woman whose man labored in a factory.

I am a woman who watched two babies grow into beautiful children. I am a woman who watched two babies die because there was no milk.

I am a woman who watched twins grow into popular college students with summers abroad. I am a woman who watched three children grow, but with bellies stretched from no food.

But then there was a man; But then there was a man;

And he talked about the peasants getting richer by my family getting poorer. And he told me of days that would be better and he made the days better.

We had to eat rice.We had rice.

We had to eat beans! We had beans.

My children were no longer given summer visas to Europe.My children no longer cried themselves to sleep.

And I felt like a peasant.And I felt like a woman.

A peasant with a dull, hard, unexciting life. Like a woman with a life that sometimes allowed a song.

And I saw a man.And I saw a man.

And together we began to plot with the hope of the return to freedom. I saw his heart begin to beat with hope of freedom, at last.

Someday, the return to freedom. Someday freedom.

And then, But then,

One day, One day,

There were plans overhead and guns firing close by. There were planes overhead and guns firing in the distance.

I gathered my children and went home. I gathered my children and ran.

And the guns moved farther and farther away. But the guns moved closer and closer.

And then, they announced that freedom had been restored! And then they came, young boys really.

They came into my home along with my man. They came and found my man.

Those men whose money was almost gone.They found all of the men whose lives were almost their own.

And we all had drinks to celebrate. And they shot them all.

The most wonderful martinis. They shot my man.

And then they asked us to dance.And they came for me.

Me. For me, the woman.

And my sisters.For my sisters.

And then they took us. Then they took us.

They took us to dinner at a small private club.They stripped from us the dignity we had gained.

And they treated us to beef.And then they raped us.

It was one course after another.One after another they came after us.

We nearly burst we were so full. Lunging, plunging—sisters bleeding, sisters dying.

It was magnificent to be free again! It was hardly a relief to have survived.

The beans have almost disappeared now. The beans have disappeared.

The rice—I've replaced it with chicken or steak. The rice, I cannot find it.

And the parties continue night after night to make up for all the time wasted. And my silent tears are joined once more by the midnight cries of my children.

The period of rice and beans for the poor woman in the poem occurs after the election of the socialist, Salvador Allende, as president of Chile. Allende was elected in 1970. He was overthrown in a military coup in September 1973 after a long period of destabilization launched by the wealthy classes and supported by the US government and US corporations such as International Telephone and Telegraph. Along with thousands of others, Allende was killed by the military. The coup, under the leadership of Gen. Augusto Pinochet, launched a period of severe hardship for the working and peasant classes. Although Chile currently has a civilian government, the military is still the country's most powerful institution.

Send me email updates about messages I've received on the site and the latest news from The CafeMom Team.
By signing up, you certify that you are female and accept the Terms of Service and have read the
Privacy Policy.